it heals over time
by WeasleysGroupie
Summary: Johnlock one-shot. Dedicated to Ciara. "I've got a letter for you." Mrs Hudson smiles through the pain, he wishes he could do that. A story where he finds out how.


**it heals over time **

John still writes, he never stopped. He doesn't publish, what he writes isn't for anyone else. It's for him. Only for _him_. He'd probably laugh. John had gone soft, and sappy, terribly sappy. He supposed that's what one does when they have a broken heart.  
"I've got a letter for you." Mrs Hudson smiles through the pain, John wishes he could do that.  
He reads the letter, and he cries, he cries because he's terribly sappy - and terribly bored, and in need of something _dangerous_.

* * *

Detective Inspector Lestrade sniffs. "It's cold out," - that excuse got him through the week.

"John," He sighs. "You have to make a statement eventually." He hates this, worst part of the job. Even worse, it was someone he knew. An acquaintance, a friend, a Sherlock. _Sherlock_- Goddammit, it was Sherlock! Why was it Sherlock? He was meant to be on this side, the _living_ side, the side where he would boss everyone around. Act like he was the smartest person in the room. Because, well, he was. No point denying it now that he was- Sherlock was- he-

"John," He knocks on the door again. "John, please let me in." He knocks again. "John, I know you're grieving but you need to eat. You haven't come out for a week." He knocks one last time. "Alright John, you've left me no choice." Detective Inspector Lestrade steps back. He charges at the door and with one swift kick it swings open. He stomps up the stairs of 221B Baker Street and right through to the living room of a dead man and his mourner. He stops abruptly and stares. His mouth falls open.

"Oh John," His knees wobble. "Oh John!" Detective Inspector Lestrade pumps his fist in the air and laughs. He swaggers down the stairs and right out the front door, leaving the flat behind. He didn't even have to look twice at the message to memorise it.  
"Good ol' Sherlock." He says.

_I hear Cuba is good this time of year. What do you say, Watson? It'll be dangerous.  
SH_

* * *

There's a dead woman in Prague, he doesn't need two minutes let alone the week they give him to know it was the gardener.  
"That was boring," He says. "And I promised you danger, we'll just have to go somewhere else." John doesn't argue.

* * *

A man murdered in Bulgaria, even John guesses it was the jealous ex-girlfriend.  
"Bo-ring," He sings. "I hear they sell great tacos in New Mexico."  
"Why not Mexico?"  
"Mexico is boring." John doesn't argue.

* * *

They stop a serial killer in New Mexico, ironically a Mexican, and John hasn't run as much in his life.  
"Serial killer?" He laughs. "Please, we can do much better than that." Once again, John doesn't argue.

* * *

They stop to say hello to Molly. She has a husband now, he's a doctor. They leave a map for Lestrade. It leads him to the killer he's been chasing for the past year.  
"Good ol' Sherlock." He chuckles to himself as he slaps on the handcuffs.

* * *

They hold hands as they watch the Northern lights. As their fingers link, John notes the smooth feeling of Sherlock's unworked palm. Sherlock cracks a smile at the roughness of the soldier's hand. Of _his_ soldier's hand.

* * *

Next they solve a crime in Cardiff.  
"Knew it was the dog," He says. "It's always the dog, isn't it?"  
John doesn't argue.

* * *

Sherlock buys a fake beard, a long, red trench coat with a black sack - "Are you going to the Christmas party as a pedophile?" - and John buys him another ear-hat. He doesn't wear it.

There's mistletoe at the Christmas party. They don't speak of this either.

* * *

They go to Paris, catch a thief that walked through walls.  
"Mirrors," He snorts. "Too plain, too boring."  
They don't speak of what happened on the Eiffel Tower. He tries not to remember how soft and warm _his_ lips felt.

* * *

In Egypt there's a woman, a burglar by the name of Edith Prior, they catch her of course.  
"Had fun?" He asks.  
"Not nearly enough," John says. "Rather boring actually." Sherlock doesn't argue.

* * *

It's in Rome where they come across a familiar face. A familiar dead face. John tries not to be hurt but he's not Lindsey Lohan, he can't light his pain away. Though he tries, he can't afford not to. He can't feel like this anymore.  
John walks into their hotel room, the bittersweet buzz completely vanished, and merely stares at Sherlock's tears.  
"It hurts," He says. "John, how do you make it stop?" He wish he knew.

* * *

Surprisingly, it's in Ireland where the medicine was. A girl, a young, blonde girl, that was all it took. They had solved the case, you see, one with a girl - an amazing, bright, young, lonely girl - who was charged for the murder of her own parents. She was charged because she admitted to it. Sherlock practically drooled when he read the case file. They proved her innocence of course. It was all a big thing with a balloon and some string. The two mysterious men - a detective and a doctor, they say - were never identified but they adopted the girl. How could they not? Sherlock liked her cleverness, John liked her light, she liked them. Young, little, Ciara Holmes-Watson, because;  
"Don't you know the alphabet, John? 'H' always comes before 'W'."  
"Not if you read it backwards." He mumbles but goes with it.

* * *

The trio solve crimes. The best in the business is what the tabloids say. They play hide-and-seek on Ciara's 14th birthday. Sherlock's idea, obviously.  
"You two can come out any day now." She calls. They both get the double meaning.

* * *

It takes another two years before they retire. It's not for real though. There's still always the phone, plus Ciara takes on the 'family business' and having practically inherited a brain like Sherlock's and a heart like John's she can never go wrong.

* * *

She meets a man. His name is Brendan. They meet in a record shop, their hands touch as they both reach for the new All Time Low album. He's in a band, music is the twenty percent of her heart that her fathers don't take up, it's love at first sight.

* * *

She takes him home to 'meet the parents'. She beams when they show no shame with their 'secret' touches. She finds it heart-warming how they always find a way to brush off each other, even if it's just for a second. It's endearing the way they don't judge. John has tamed Sherlock to the point of not critiquing out loud. That's a miracle. A Johnlock miracle, as she likes to tease them.

* * *

They like to remember, remember when they first met -  
"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson."  
"The name's Sherlock Holmes." - and how such troubled men could be each other's missing half to one crazy, mysterious, wonderful whole. They never did thank Mike.

They like to remember and that's why he never takes off his ear-hat.

* * *

There's a funny thing about pain, it heals over time. With the right men involved of course.

* * *

**a/n -** well, my attempt at a Johnlock happy ever after but whatever, it's late and I'm tired. 100% dedicated to Ciara, who basically ordered me to write this. But I live to serve her so that's okay. I hope I made you proud. You said no smut, so, no smut. Yay? Nay? I don't care, I'm going to sleep now.


End file.
